Irrationality
by a mountain of gideon's scones
Summary: When Myrnin requires to leave Morganville to gather supplies, Amelie agrees-so long as she goes with him. The issue? They're going by plane.


I don't own anything

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As soon as she sat down on the plane, Amelie knew that this was a mistake.

She was seated next to Myrnin upon an aeroplane which was bound for Missouri, where they were headed in order to purchase some materials for the machine in Morganville. According to Myrnin, they were too fragile to be flown without his watchful eye over them, but Amelie was of the opinion that he wanted a trip out from Morganville—and she felt the same.

"Amelie!" Myrnin said, his voice betraying how excited he was, and Amelie internally groaned. She didn't think that she would be able to cope with this for a four hour flight.

"Yes, Myrnin?" she replied, barely keeping her tone even. The three hours they had already been together had worn her patience thin—his clamouring at the check-in desk, his continual confirming of their flight details and the departure time and his snickering every time he looked at his fake passport—and she wasn't entirely sure whether or not she would survive a plane journey with him. _One_ of them would be making the descent to the ground through the emergency exit if he kept this up, and she was certain it wouldn't be herself.

"There are emergency cards!" Myrnin told her, flourishing the piece of laminated card in Amelie's face. From this angle, she could see herself in the card's reflection, and saw, with great regret, that her eyes had flashed a scarlet colour.

"If we require those cards, then it is a very bad day for us, Myrnin," Amelie said in as calm a tone as she could manage. "Now, if you would close that window blind and then _sit down_, we can perhaps allow the crew to finish the preparation for our flight." There was a sharpness behind her words that she hoped would make Myrnin heed her unsaid warning: if he continued the way he was going, he would never be leaving Morganville again.

Myrnin's face fell slightly but he did as his friend told him, taking a seat beside her, all the while muttering about how stupid it was for him to be wearing a seat belt and how it _irritated_ his skin. His constant chattering made Amelie attempt to tune him out…until she remembered why she had put up with it so far: she was scared of flying.

It was her first time on a plane—she had formed Morganville before the time of even the most basic planes—and she was nervous. Everything she had ever heard about planes was negative, and though she knew that the statistics were in the favour of planes making their journey without crashing, she couldn't help but worry that this would be one of the unlucky planes which crashed.

"Would you ensure that there are oxygen masks in the machine above us, Myrnin?" Amelie asked quietly, interrupting Myrnin's rant about the small leg room he had.

"But, my dear, you don't _require_…certainly I will." Myrnin began to argue the point that she was a vampire and therefore did not require oxygen, until Amelie shot him a look so vicious that he changed his tact entirely.

.

Within the next few minutes, Amelie had recovered enough of her composure to ensure that she wouldn't collapse as soon as the engines started, though she still found herself reaching out for Myrnin's hand when the first noises issued from the plane's underside.

"Mention this to _anyone_ and I shall have your head," she hissed in his direction, her eyes focused firmly on her own emergency card. She frantically scanned it all, trying to see if these sounds were normal, but Myrnin merely laughed at her.

"This is perfectly normal, Amelie, everything you would expect from a plane," he told her, and for the first time, she was thankful that he was alongside her. "In fact, the noise will get much, _much _louder as we begin our ascent, so if you would like to loosen your grip now, it would be appreciated. I would prefer to keep my hand attached to my arm, if you are amiable to this request."

Amelie looked down at their joined hands to realise just how tightly she was gripping Myrnin's, and slowly loosened her grasp upon him. Instead, she began to take small, shallow breaths every few seconds in order to try and relax, thinking happy thoughts about herself and Sam and how she would _soon_ have her feet back on flat ground when—

"I'm _so_ glad that Oliver isn't here!" Myrnin broke her reverie, bringing her back to reality and the situation which was that she was on a plane _which was beginning to move_.

"Are you, now?" Amelie replied, distracted from what she was saying. "And why is that?" Almost immediately, she regretted her words; Myrnin could rant about Oliver for hours, and she had no patience for such drivel, not right now.

"Well, he is such a bore; he doesn't understand the Christmas spirit just because it's not the most religious event in the world," Myrnin began, and Amelie began cursing herself in her mind. This was her fault. "Also, he smells extremely awfully at the current moment in time; it's intolerable, I must say…" he continued onwards, and Amelie attempted to block him out as best she could.

She didn't succeed very well, though.

Before she could respond to his latest accusation—that Oliver enjoys taking baths with pink rubber ducks, something she knew to be false due to her latest bath with the man—the angle in the cabin changed drastically from horizontal, to someway between horizontal and vertical.

"MYRNIN!" she growled, her eyes flashing due to her fear. "_What is happening_?"

"We're merely rising into the air, my dear," he replied quietly, breaking out of his list of insults to give her a soothing response. "That is generally how planes operate best—in the air. Otherwise, you may as well get the train to Missouri, and we both know how much you hate trains."

"I have to say that I prefer trains," was Amelie's response, the feeling inside of her that if she could still be sick, she would be. "Why did you persuade me to do this?"

What she wanted was an answer along the lines of, "you're my oldest friend, Amelie, and you owed me for the favour I did you in seventeen forty seven."

Instead, she got this: "You're still in mourning about Samuel's death, and wanted to take time off from running the town anyway, but you didn't know how to do that without Oliver trying to take your power—he _may_ be in a relationship revolving around his copulatory organ and your own equivalent, but that doesn't mean that he has given up on his desire for your town—" he would have continued, but Amelie had to interrupt him.

"_Myrnin_!" she said, aghast at how he could be discussing something so private in such a public setting. "That is not the case and you are very well aware of that fact."

Myrnin merely raised an eyebrow at her and then continued his story. "Now we have avoided the…_closeness_ between yourself and Oliver, allow me to relay the rest of my story," he said, and if Amelie could blush she knew she would be. "So, you wanted a holiday, but could not say that outright. Therefore, when I came to you with my dilemma about finding access to the materials I require, you jumped at the chance to accompany me to Missouri; you get a holiday, I get the materials I require, and we get some quality time together."

If Amelie hadn't been petrified at the thought that she was rising (and not gradually) into the air, she would have laughed at Myrnin's words. "I think there was a lot more persuading on your part than you have said there," she responded, breathing slightly more deeply. "I…I feel slightly hungry," she admitted, suddenly aware of the closeness of the bodies around her, and more aware of the fact she would be closeted up with them for four hours.

"Well," Myrnin said casually, and Amelie knew immediately that she wouldn't like what he was going to say. "Humans have this thing called the mile-high club, where, I believe, they accompany one another to the toilet to engage in activities which I feel you and Oliver are well acquainted with, though the thought sickens me. You could adapt the idea, and partake in some feeding?" he suggested, and Amelie very nearly didn't resist slapping her friend.

"That shall not happen," Amelie replied tightly, turning her head from Myrnin. "I am going to sleep now, so please be quiet."

Myrnin pretended not to hear her. "Now, where was I in my list of why I hate Oliver? Oh yes, the fact that he didn't give me my poker winnings back in London when we were acquaintances for a short period of time. That has always grated me…"

Amelie groaned. She didn't think that she would make it the rest of the journey with Myrnin by her side.

.

As the plane began its descent into the airport at Missouri, Amelie felt that she couldn't take another moment longer in a confined space with Myrnin. Her friend had irritated her the entire journey, discussing alchemical symbols she didn't understand, making idiotic suggestions about how to improve her town, and worst of all, explaining every reason (in vivid detail) about how Sam was better for her than Oliver was.

"We are never taking a plane journey together again," she assured him through gritted teeth as the plane's wheels touched down on the tarmac. There was little turbulence as they landed, yet she still felt herself slide forwards in her seat, and her stomach lurched most definitely.

"But how are we to get home?" Myrnin asked, stricken.

"I do not care about you," Amelie sighed, sitting back in her seat as she waited to be told she could leave. What had started out as being rather nice, having no responsibility for anything, was grating on her nerves and if another flight attendant told her what to do—including consuming her own wine, which was infused with blood—she knew that they would not survive to tell the tale.

"My heart is wounded!" Myrnin replied most dramatically, acting out his heart failing and slumping back in his seat as though he were an actor. "Oh, Amelie, don't you agree that I would make a fine Macbeth?"

"No," she said shortly. "I am taking the train home, Myrnin, and as for you, I care not what you do, but if you appear in my home within the next ten years, then that is one hundred years too soon, is that clear?"

Myrnin made no comment until they were allowed to clear from the plane, when he muttered, "it isn't _my_ fault you're scared of flying."

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